During the last two years, what I considered to be my Yoga practice has, at times, dwindled to long stretches of inactivity due to the blessing and opportunity I’ve had to be a large part of my uncle’s life during his most vulnerable stage. I’ve never gotten down on myself for not practicing.
I feel as if there is a time for everything and this was my time for family. To take time away from hospitals, hugs or even our nights of watching Animal House for the hundredth time with cold beer seems like an indulgence.
As he continued to decline so rapidly during this training, I’ve had moments of feeling like the sometimes non-existent practice and forty pounds I’ve acquired in the past two years makes this the most ridiculous time imaginable to do a training.
I see the popular hashtag #yogaeverydamnday that always accompanies a twenty-year-old stick insect doing some amazing Crow/Cobra hybrid on a beach somewhere. Yoga every damn day? If I get Yoga one damn time between trainings the last few months, I’m doing great.
As my journey with my uncle entered its final phase though, I came to appreciate the last two years as my greatest yogic evolution. It’s been Yoga every damn second, my friends. The yamas and niyamas have unconsciously guided my every move. Continue reading >>